


Yule Gift

by addie71



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-14 07:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addie71/pseuds/addie71
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn helps an injured young hobbit and receives a gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yule Gift

Aragorn looked in wonder at the tiny hobbit lying in a twisted heap at the base of an old apple tree. In all his years patrolling the Shire it wasn’t often that he had an opportunity to see one of its inhabitants up close, and even more rarely, to interact with any of them. And this one appeared to be quite young, early teens if Aragorn was any judge, and beautiful; dusky curls, delicate pointed ears and long, dark lashes resting lightly on smooth, pale skin. 

A trickle of red from beneath his curls quickly brought Aragorn out of his reverie. He expertly ran his fingers over the hobbit’s limbs, relieved when he didn’t find any broken bones. Then he carefully straightened out the inanimate body and slowly turned him onto his back. Gently probing the wound near the lad’s temple, he found some swelling and a small cut. 

Further inspection revealed that the bleeding had almost stopped and Aragorn decided that stitches wouldn’t be necessary. The unconscious hobbit would probably have a concussion and most certainly a headache when he woke. And he was beginning to shiver. 

The day had started off sunny and mild, but the wind had picked up, and the clouds had moved in fast, causing the temperature to rapidly fall. It looked as if it could start to snow at any time. Aragorn needed to get the boy warm, and get his wound cleaned and bound as soon as possible.

He removed a blanket from his bedroll and tucked it around the hobbit, then looked around for some type of shelter from the wind. He was in luck, for not too far off was a hedge. It would be enough to provide a break from the wind which he needed for both the hobbit and a fire. Slipping his arms under the tiny body, Aragorn gently picked him up. The hobbit moaned and turned his head into Aragorn’s chest, but didn’t wake.

When he got to the hedge with his burden, Aragorn eased him as far under it as he comfortably could and then tucked the blanket tightly around him. He shrugged his pack from his shoulders and pulled a small shovel from its depths. He dug a small, shallow pit as quickly as he could in the frozen earth, thanking Eru that the soil here was sandy, making it easier to dig in the cold. 

Satisfied, he ran back to the tree where he had witnessed the hobbit fall when a branch had broken under him. He picked up a few smaller branches, dry wood being plentiful beneath the half dead tree, and carried them back to the hedge.

As quickly as he could, he got a small fire going and put a cup of water from his flask near it to heat. Then he gathered the shivering hobbit up into his arms, carried him to the fire and sat down next to his pack, pulling his cloak around them both, hoping his body heat would help to warm up the young hobbit.

As he sat, waiting for the water to warm, Aragorn hummed softly to himself and wondered where this young one lived. He appeared to be gentry, and Aragorn didn’t think he could be too far from home. If he didn’t wake soon Aragorn supposed that he should take him to Brandy Hall. If the Master there didn’t recognize him, at least he would be able to make inquiries.

The water was starting to steam. Aragorn didn’t want it too hot, so he shifted his burden to one arm, reached over and picked up the cup with a thick rag he had put by for that purposed. He settled the cup by his side and reached into his open pack for a clean cloth. He poured some of the warm water onto the cloth and began to gently dab at the drying blood. As he cleaned the wound, the hobbit in his arms began to stir and then moaned as his eyelids fluttered open.

~~~

As Frodo came back to consciousness, he became aware of a dull throbbing in his head. He tried to raise his hand to feel his head, but it was too much effort. Moaning a little, he slowly opened his eyes.

A bearded Giant met them and caused him to forget the painful throbbing in his head as his heart began to race with fear. He struggled to get free, but the Giant’s arms were strong and held him tight, making it impossible for him to move.

“Don’t be frightened, little one. I mean you no harm.” The Giant smiled down at him. “You may call me Strider. I saw you fall and I’m trying to help you. You’ve a nasty cut on your head and probably a concussion as well. If you would just be still, I can finish cleaning your wound and bandage it for you.”

Frodo knew he had no choice but to accept the stranger’s help. Taking a closer look, he realized that ‘Strider’ was really a Man and not a Giant after all. Also, he was not so fierce looking when he smiled, and the warm cloth he was holding to Frodo’s head was very soothing. He relaxed and allowed Aragorn to finish his work.

But as his heart settled back into its normal rhythm, the pain in his head returned and Frodo was beginning to feel nauseous. “Sick!” Frodo whispered, just in time to allow Aragorn to lift and turn him before he heaved the contents of his stomach onto the ground. Weak and panting, Frodo relaxed back into Aragorn’s arms and closed his eyes as Aragorn used the damp cloth to gently wipe Frodo’s face. 

“I’m sorry, little one, but it seems I was right about a concussion. I know you’re tired and don’t feel well, but I want you to try and stay awake for me.”

“Frodo,” whispered the hobbit, “not Little One.”

Aragorn smiled. “Alright then, Frodo, I’ve done all that I can for you here, and now that we are acquainted, why don’t you tell me where you live so I can get you home.”

Frodo, who had frequently been told that his instincts were amazingly accurate, didn’t hesitate; there was something about this Man that Frodo knew he could trust. “Brandy Hall. Do you know where that is, Strider?”

Aragorn grinned, “I do indeed, and I am slightly acquainted with Master Brandybuck, as well.”

“You know my uncle?”

“Rorimac is your uncle? You’re a Brandybuck then?”

“Actually, I’m a Baggins. Uncle Rory was my mother’s brother.” Frodo closed his eyes and tried to hold back the tears. It was still too soon, and the pain too raw. After all it was only this past summer that he’d lost his parents.

 _Was_. This must be Primula’s son then. Aragorn was aware of the tragic accident that had taken the lives of that bright spirit and her husband. Attempting to lighten Frodo’s mood he said, “Well in that case, I had better get you home. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the Master for keeping you out here in the cold you know!”

Frodo smiled at the thought of this big Man getting in trouble with the Master, and laid his head against Aragorn’s chest. Their short exchange had tired him so all he said was, “Perhaps you’re right.”

Aragorn got to his feet as smoothly as he could, then carried Frodo, still wrapped in the blanket, and laid him down beneath the hedge again. “First I have to take care of the fire; then I will take you home. Please try to stay awake for me, Frodo.”

He quickly put out the small fire and covered the pit with dirt. He replaced the gear in his pack and then stooped to pick up Frodo. The lad was starting to shiver again, in spite of the blanket, and Aragorn was thankful that it wasn’t too far to Brandy Hall.

He walked as quickly as he could without jostling Frodo overmuch, but the hobbit still let out a soft moan from time to time. And it was getting colder and darker. About halfway to the Hall it began to snow. Aragorn cursed under his breath.

As he neared the Hall he could see lights moving and bobbing in the dusk, and could hear voices calling out Frodo’s name. Relief flooded through him, knowing that they were almost there. Approaching the nearest light, he called out, “He’s here! I have him! Send someone for the Master!”

He stepped into the circle of light as he was speaking. A gasp escaped the lips of the elderly hobbit holding the lantern. “Strider!” It was Rorimac. “What’s happened to him?”

“He fell from a tree. He has a cut on his head and a concussion. He’s too cold and needs to get warm as soon as possible.”

Aragorn didn’t stop and Rory’s much shorter, older legs were hard pressed to keep up with him. Shouts rang out around them as hobbits scurried to spread the news that Frodo had been found. By the time Aragorn arrived at the entrance to Brandy Hall, Mistress Menegilda, another female hobbit and a healer were waiting to receive them. Aragorn handed over his precious burden and Frodo was whisked away.

“Come in, Strider. Take some refreshment and tell me more of what happened to my nephew.” Rory was pulling gently on Aragorn’s arm, trying to usher him into the Hall.

“I don’t think that is wise, my friend,” Aragorn responded. “It’s better that I be seen by as few of you as possible.” But as he spoke, wonderful smells were assailing his nostrils and his stomach let out a rumble.

Rory chuckled on hearing the tell-tale sound. “Ah, Strider, you must eat something. Come now, my study is warm and private and not too uncomfortable, even for one as big as you. It’s not far into the Hall, and almost everyone will be busy elsewhere. Besides, it’s Yule Eve. You have to accept our hospitality on this of all nights!” 

Aragorn realized the truth in Rory’s words and graciously accepted his offer. It would be nice to sit in a warm, cozy room, and have a hot meal. And he was most anxious to hear from the healer how Frodo fared. Aragorn was surprised at how quickly he had become attached to the young hobbit. There was something about Frodo that was… special.

Rory soon had Aragorn settled comfortably by the fire. A cup of mulled wine felt good between his hands and even better in his stomach, warming him from the inside out. Rory told him that he would have his dinner sent up and would return after the Ranger had eaten. Then he left to check on his nephew.

It wasn’t long before a tray was brought in by a shy, but obviously curious, serving lass. The aroma of the special Yule dishes filled the room and made his stomach rumble again. She left the tray, speaking only to ask if there was anything else he needed. It amused him to see the mixture of relief and disappointment on her face when he declined.

He finished his meal and began to fret, worrying that Rory’s long absence might mean that Frodo was doing worse than Aragorn had thought, and was relieved when the door finally opened and Rory came in. 

“How is he?” Aragorn asked before the hobbit could utter a word.

Rory smiled. “He is doing well, I’m happy to say. Violet, our healer, said it appears that he wasn’t out in the cold long enough to harm him and he should recover from the concussion in a few days.” This corresponded with Aragorn’s own assessment and he was pleased to hear that no further injury had been discovered.

Rory’s expression sobered. “He was very lucky you were there. If you hadn’t found him, and brought him here so quickly, he might have lain out there for hours, or longer, before we found him. He might have… died.” Rory sobbed and wiped his eyes before continuing. “He is drowsy, but awake and is asking for you. Would you like to see him?”

Aragorn nodded and Rory led him from the room. They followed a fairly short passage from Rory’s study that led to the family wing. The private quarters of Brandy Hall didn’t accommodate a person of Aragorn’s height as easily as the more public rooms, and he was glad there was a chair for him by Frodo’s bed.

There were three other hobbits in the room besides Rory. Menegilda, their eldest son, Saradoc, whom Aragorn at met once before, and the other hobbit who had been at the door when he had brought Frodo to the Hall. Rory introduced her to Aragorn as Saradoc’s wife, Esmeralda.

Frodo’s hair had been washed and a fresh bandage bound his head. He looked very pale and tired, but a smile lit his face when he saw Aragorn enter the room. “Strider! I’m so glad you are still here. Thank you for helping me and for bringing me home.”

Aragorn smiled down at him, “It was my pleasure, Frodo. I’m glad I happened to be close by when you fell. How are you feeling?”

Frodo’s smile dimmed a little. “My head hurts horribly and I’m so tired, but they won’t let me go to sleep.” He frowned. “And it’s Yule.” He looked at the other hobbits in the room. “I’m sorry to have caused so much trouble,” he said, “especially today.” He eyes filled. “I’ve ruined the celebration for you.” 

“Oh, Frodo, no!” Protests rang out from the hobbits in the room. Menegilda and Esmeralda hurried to the bed. His aunt smoothed back his curls while his cousin picked up his hand and stroked it. Rory and Saradoc came to stand by their wives, all obviously distressed that Frodo would think so.

“Sweetling, we all love you so much. Nothing could make us happier tonight than to have you safely home!” Menegilda wiped at her eyes and pressed a soft kiss to Frodo’s brow.

He appeared to be comforted by his aunt’s words and a watery smile appeared on his face. “I love you all, too.” Then his face brightened as a thought came to him. “If I hadn’t fallen, Strider would have spent Yule Eve all alone in the cold. Now he can spend it here with us!”

Aragorn’s heart warmed at the words, thought Frodo couldn’t know it, the best Yule gift he had received was meeting this special little hobbit.


End file.
